


what kind of world (do we live in?)

by gooseberries



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Government Agent Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Leon just wants to be normal for half a second, Simmons is playing the long game, Simmons is smarter than we think, Tags May Change, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberries/pseuds/gooseberries
Summary: National Security Advisor Simmons made it absolutely clear: USSTRATCOM Agent Leon S. Kennedy was not to be trusted.When you joined the FBI, you knew you would investigate threats to the American public. You just never thought one of those threats would be a government agent personally tasked with protecting the president. Now you're going undercover as a struggling bartender with one clear mission: get close to Leon Kennedy and find proof of his allegiance to Umbrella, the very group he was tasked with eliminating.You step into the bar with a new identity and two pieces of advice from your partner. First, every lie you tell could be the difference between life or death. Second, nothing is ever as it seems at the start. You knew it was important for him to be telling you this, you just didn't know how true those words were.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I've written small one-shots for RE on tumblr before, but this is my first attempt at a multi-chaptered fic. This fic takes place three years after RE4, a couple of years after Degeneration.

It’s almost soothing to be back behind a bar after three years that felt a little more like three decades. You move with pure muscle memory at first, hands moving about the bar as you make the same drinks you were making during your college years. It was a small bar just outside the Georgetown campus, meaning most of its patrons were students hoping they wouldn’t get carded or adults fully content on drinking their memories away each night.

“I can’t tell ya how happy I am you’re back,” your old boss, Robbie, says as he watches over you in ‘training’, “We’ve had quite a few people quit since you left, and you know I don’t just hire anyone.”

You did know that, because that was the only reason you were chosen for this job. You could never tell Robbie but you hadn’t actually reached out to him because you were desperate for a job. Rather, your dream job was sending you on your first solo mission since becoming a fully-fledged agent and this just so happened to be your target’s favorite bar. You’re certain that if it weren’t for your previous employment, you would still be tagging alongside your partner and waiting for them to trust you enough with your own mission. Typically new agents weren’t given massive undercover missions as their first assignment, but you weren’t about to decline it.

“I just couldn’t stay away,” you answer back, trying not to keep your eyes on the man who had just stood up from the bar.

“I’m closing my tab,” the man tells you, slurring his words just enough to be noticeable, “It’s getting a little crowded in here.”

“So soon?” You press, trying to will your heart to stop racing as you heard the words. You watch as your partner finishes out his payment knowing this was the cue you two had agreed upon. It means your target just arrived at the bar, it means the official start of your solo mission, it means for the first time in a year you are completely alone without immediate backup at your hip at all times. Though you’d wished for this moment ever since applying for the position, you can still feel the way your hands grow sweaty against the bottle you’re still holding.

“Have a good night,” he tells you simply and you have to remind yourself not to stare as he walks out the door. The bar isn’t packed but it certainly isn’t empty either which explains how you might have missed the entrance of your target. Most people are gathered in small groups at tables or a couple of pool tables that scatter the floor of the building.

“Hey, welcome back,” you hear Robbie telling someone as you put away the bottle in your hand. He’s already walked to the other end of the bar and you’re sure he must be talking to the man you’ve been investigating for the past couple of weeks. Or rather, the man you’ve been  _ trying _ to investigate.

The man was known as a ghost agent for a reason. There seemed to be little to no record of him anywhere in the government, and what was there was heavily redacted. There wasn’t even a recent picture of him in the file you’d been given, just one taken from his initial training for USSTRATCOM. All you were able to learn after countless hours researching was that he was recruited far younger than you thought was possible and he fights BOWs for a living.

You were just sixteen when Raccoon City was flattened but the rumors about what had happened there stuck with you. The living dead still haunt your dreams even to this day despite never actually seeing them in person. You wonder how a person could be okay creating a monster such as that for mere profit. You wonder how an agent tasked with fighting these creatures could be okay with committing treason and helping Neo-Umbrella gain traction. It wasn’t often the National Security Advisor sent an explicit request for the FBI to investigate a government agent, much less a ghost agent like your target. You wonder how dangerous this man has to be to get this kind of special attention.

“Hey, Tuesday, bring some whiskey and three glasses over here,” Robbie calls out to you, breaking your thoughts and finally forcing you to face your mission.

You roll your eyes at the man, grabbing a random bottle from the middle shelf and making your way over to where your boss was casually leaning against the bar. The man sitting on the other side was most certainly your target. He looks older and harder than the picture in the file, but there is no mistaking STRATCOM Agent Leon S. Kennedy. The blond bangs from the photo are longer now, covering more of his face. His face has harsher lines that come from losing the last of his baby fat and his blue eyes have a sharp look to them as he obviously scans the room. If the small file you have on him is correct, then he’s barely thirty, but he looks as if he’s lived a lifetime and a half. Robbie grins as you approach, clapping his hand against the back of your shoulder. “I thought there’s no drinkin’ on the job, Robbie?” You tease, knowing full-well that the rule never applied to you.

“It’s your first day back, I’ll make an exception,” he answers before turning to the government agent in front of you. Does Robbie know just how dangerous this man is, or does he think the man is just another well-paying customer? Both options sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine. “Best bartender in the country right here, Kennedy,” Robbie boasts, “Tuesday’s been here longer’n anyone.”

“Absolutely nothing you just said is true,” you point out, sliding a glass of whiskey to each of the men before wrapping your hand around one for yourself.

“Your name’s Tuesday?” Agent Kennedy questions, lifting his brows and starting to smirk like he’s not sure whether he can make a joke about it or not.

“Also not true. It’s a horrible nickname from college that  _ I thought died three years ago _ ,” you explain, turning your head to stare straight at Robbie.

“Poor girl spent a full twenty-four hours here,” Robbie barks out a laugh, draining his glass in one go. “We’re not even open twenty-four hours but I just felt so bad for her. Kept cryin’ about how her life was in shambles because a guy dumped her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you felt so bad. It was the most business you’d seen in weeks,” you return, rolling your eyes playfully, “I spent a full Tuesday here and he calls me that like it’s a good thing.”

“Well it got you a job here, didn’t it?” Robbie laughed, pouring himself another drink, and raising the glass as if to cheers. “Who knew a breakup could be so life-changing?”

“You’d be surprised,” Kennedy chuckles, pulling your attention from your boss to look at the man. He was just staring at his drink and you realize maybe he hadn’t meant to say it aloud at all. “I missed my first day on the Force because I was drinking to forget a breakup.”

“The Force?” You ask, genuinely curious now. You lean forward on your arms against the bar, cradling your drink between both hands. Technically you were on an assignment, so you would have to be careful how much alcohol you actually consumed. You couldn’t afford to not be completely lucid lest you let something slip about who you are to Kennedy. You knew he had at one time been a cop, but for how long you weren’t sure. The small file you had on the man practically ended right after he graduated from the Police Academy in ‘98. His assigned city had even been redacted. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“I’m not,” he answers smoothly, “not anymore.” He doesn’t elaborate and you know better than to pry. National Security Advisor Simmons had warned you multiple times how distrusting the man in front of you could be. You were told to tread lightly around him, to wait until he tells you what you want to know himself.

“Well, I was a researcher before this but clearly that didn’t work out either,” you return, raising your glass a little. It wasn’t totally untrue; you  _ had _ done that before you filled out the application to be a special agent but it felt like a lifetime ago. “To life-changing breakups and drastic career changes.” He raises his own glass and you finally allow yourself a sip of the whiskey. It burns a little going down; you can’t remember the last time you’d had something that strong to drink. Ever since Quantico training, you hardly had time for anything outside of being an agent. You tell yourself that when this mission is done you deserve a date with a bottle of cinnamon whiskey. 

“I’ll go cover the other side of the bar. Have fun you crazy kids,” Robbie interrupts, knocking back his second glass before crossing to the busiest end of the bar. That was easy, you think, though you suppose Robbie must think he was being clever or something by leaving the pair of you alone. You wouldn’t tell him that it had been your goal to get some time with Kennedy alone.

“So I can’t call you Tuesday?” Kennedy asks as soon as Robbie is out of sight, earning him a quick glare.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then what  _ can _ I call you?”

“Valerie Dryden,” you lie coolly, taking a sip of your drink soon after and watching his expression closely. There’s no reason for him to suspect that it isn’t your real name, but you can’t help but wonder how clever he actually is. To survive being a ghost agent, to fight against BOWs constantly, to potentially be tricking the entire US government into thinking he’s trustworthy, this man has to be a genius.

It was risky to lie about yourself on a mission. That was one of the main points drilled into your head during training: one tiny lie could be the difference between life or death in your line of work. Telling as much of the truth about yourself as possible was the safest way to get through a mission. With this mission though, even your real name was too dangerous to give. Though they had cut and recolored your hair, you would still resemble the image that would come up in the government database if Kennedy had enough suspicion to look up your name. If you gave him the power of a name, he would be able to see right through you.

You remembered Robbie’s confusion when you gave him the name you wanted to be called, though it was much easier to trick him than would be a government agent. All you had to tell your boss was that you were hiding from a possessive ex-boyfriend and he immediately accepted it. It was also the story you would give Leon if he got too curious about the parts of your life you couldn’t talk about.

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent answers, watching you even as he finishes his drink. You force yourself not to give a reaction at the name. To typical civilians, the name meant nothing. To anyone within the US government with high enough clearance, the name was a legend. The FBI agents you knew weren’t aware of the agent in front of you, but the agents from other branches certainly did. The name was spoken in hushed whispers as if no one was quite sure if Leon Kennedy was a real person. You’d interacted with enough Secret Service agents to know how highly they held the name in regard. You quickly finish your glass as anger bubbles up in your chest at the thought. So many brave men and women spoke his name with such reverence when in truth he was working with a Neo-Umbrella agent behind the country’s back.

“I sure hope you’re a regular, Leon Kennedy,” you return, smiling as you imagine the look on his face when he realizes you were the one who caught him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you around some more.”

It must have caught Kennedy off guard, because his head actually jerks back a little at your words. His eyebrows raise a little and his blue eyes stare right at you, unblinking. You can’t help but realize why so many people trust Kennedy; with those eyes, he could get away with anything. The man recovers quickly enough, schooling his expression into a careful smirk. “Only if you’re here.”

“Well look at you, flirting with the bartender. I’ve never seen that before,” you tease, rolling your eyes and pouring him another drink.

“You started it.”

“Did I?” you ask, giving him your own smirk in return and allowing yourself another careful sip of your own drink. “What if you’re just really bad at reading people.”

“I can promise you I’m not.”

“What makes you say that?”

A pause then and if it wouldn’t have been obvious you would have allowed your smile to widen. This was a quick test to see how much he was willing to tell you and how much work you’d have to put in to get the information you needed from him. “Just trust me on that one, Tuesday.”

“I will only give you the cheapest whiskey from here on out if you continue calling me that,” you threaten, pointing your finger at Kennedy and making him raise his hands in surrender.

“You don’t seem to like me very much,” the man points out and you have to physically stop yourself from wincing. The goal was to get close to him, not push him away. You couldn’t let your emotions get in the way of accomplishing this. You would have to erase the image of him selling American secrets to Umbrella from your mind if this mission were to be successful.

You shake your head, running through any possible way to turn this around. “It’s not that I don’t like you, I’m just being careful. You’re not the first guy to hit on me just because I’m stuck behind the bar and can’t walk away from you. I know the tricks by now.”

“I don’t do tricks,” Kennedy points out and if this weren’t a mission you would have scoffed. He doesn’t do tricks but he’s perfectly willing to work with Neo-Umbrella while promising to keep the president and his family safe.

“Everyone does tricks.”

“Even you?”

“I have my moments,” you return, shrugging a shoulder and taking a more generous sip, relishing in the warmth it spreads through your chest and hoping it’ll loosen you up a little.

“Like convincing Robbie you actually wanted this job?” So Kennedy  _ was _ good at reading people.

“If he knew this was only temporary he would never have given me the job,” you reply, trying to carefully thread as much of the truth into your words as you can without giving away who you are.

“Fair enough.” A long pause settled between you two. Kennedy just watched you and you couldn’t help but notice how expressive his eyes are. You could see the hidden question right there in the blue hue of them.

“You want to know why.”

“Most scientists I know don’t go back to their old college job after making it in the real world.”

“ I’m guessing you wouldn’t believe I got fired from my research position,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You don’t look upset enough,” Kennedy points out.

“Right. Well, I spent two years interning and later working full-time for a company only to find out they weren’t who I thought they were,” you explain truthfully. It was the reason you suddenly applied to be an FBI agent; you had seen what injustices could be covered up with money and it infuriated you. “I left WilPharma when it came out about what they were doing with that virus. Spent two years bouncing around jobs and found I just couldn’t trust another research company.”

“A friend of mine was in Harvardville when all that happened,” Kennedy says, but from the slightly far-off expression on his face you guessed he had been one of the agents to respond to the airport incident. You knew the agent was a part of the Anti-Umbrella team, but it was hard to believe that he had the misfortune to have to respond to that incident.

The day you saw your workplace on the news for being involved in a bioterrorist plot was one you would never forget. There were already rumors about illegal human experimentation being conducted under the guise of clinical trials, but your superiors had been quick to dismiss them as distrust for pharmaceutical companies after Umbrella Corporation’s fall from grace. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have listened to them but it was so hard to believe that a company that was creating a vaccine for the zombie virus would be the same one selling the virus on the black market.

The day after the Harvardville incident, you resigned and vowed to never work for another pharmaceutical company again. It was just two weeks later that you were in contact with an FBI recruiter, wanting desperately to stop others from deceiving the American public in such a devastating way. You never actually expected to get the job, but after months of hard work and vigorous training, you made the cut. Instead of investigating other companies like WilPharma, however, you were investigating an American agent from another division of the government.

“I never actually knew what was going on there,” you found yourself needing to clarify. This man’s entire career surrounded combating bioterrorism; you figure there was no way he would trust you if there was even a possibility of you being involved with the Harvardville incident. “I just knew I couldn’t be a part of an industry who repeatedly allowed something like that to happen.”

“What do you want to do now?” Kennedy asks.

“I’ve always wanted to change the world, to really help people. I just haven’t figured out how to do that yet,” you respond simply. It wasn’t hard to imagine how much better the world would be when you were finally able to catch Kennedy in his deceit. “So, for now I’m back in D.C. working in this bar.”

“There are worse jobs out there.” Does he regret signing up to be a government agent?

“That’s true,” you return simply. “You want another?” you ask as he slams the rest of his drink down.

“How long are you working?”

“Another two hours.”

“Then why not?”

Another two hours and you were finally able to slip out from behind the bar, thankful that Robbie made your training shift short. It was easy to talk to Kennedy, though by the end of the night you realize you still don’t know anything about him that you didn’t already know. The man was clever in evading your casual questions, never telling you more than necessary. This wouldn’t be easy by any means and you might’ve given up hope if it weren’t for the less-than-subtle flirtatious lines he sent you throughout the night.

When you return from the stockroom with your bag and jacket, you see Kennedy closing his tab and standing from the bar. He makes eye contact but doesn’t make a move to join you. “I work again on Thursday, 4 o’clock,” you tell the man as you pass by, shooting him a wink and slipping out of the bar for the night. “I hope I see you then.”

Once you turn the corner, you fish out the phone you were given as a part of this assignment, pressing it to your ear and hearing it ring only once before the other person answers. “So?” the deep voice speaks through your phone and you find your shoulders relaxing as you hear that familiar sound. This was someone you could trust, someone you knew would always have your back. Though Wyatt was almost double your age, you could connect with him easily. This was your partner; the man who was responsible for your field training for the past year and now your point of contact for this mission.

“Nice to hear you sober,” you can’t help but tease. “You were a little dramatic back there.”

“Screw you,” Wyatt spits back and you can practically feel through the phone the eye roll he gives you. “How’d it go?

“I’ve got him interested,” you answer, allowing a smile to take over your features. You hadn’t completely messed up on the first night of your big break. 

“Good. Keep him interested but remember we’re playing the long game here. Don’t spook him,” your partner advises. “I still wish you’d wear a wire.”

“You know he would find it the moment we got close.”

“I know, I know, but this guy’s dangerous, Scout.” You can’t help but smile at the nickname. When you were first introduced as Wyatt’s partner, he had complained for weeks that he was given a total Girl Scout. He’d told you countless times that you weren’t going to make it, that you would give up in the first month of in-field training. It wasn’t until you saved his ass on a mission three months in that he conceded you were meant for this job.

“How’s that any different from anyone else we’ve gone after?” you ask as you reach the safety of your temporary new apartment courtesy of the US government.

“You’re alone this time. With no wire, I won’t know if anything goes wrong until you miss a check-in.” You can hear Wyatt sigh through the phone and what sounds like ice clinking against glass. “If Simmons is right and Neo-Umbrella has this guy in their pocket, then the whole country is at stake.”

“I can do this, Wyatt.”

“I know you can. You have to do this, we don’t have another option.” You sigh and flop onto the ratty old couch, wishing the budget for undercover work was big enough to afford nicer accommodations. 

“When’s next check-in?” you ask, trying to ignore the sudden weight pressing on your shoulders. The entire country’s safety was riding on this mission, was riding on your ability to make a man fall for you.

“When do you see him next?”

“If all goes as planned, then Thursday.” What if you read the situation wrong? What if Kennedy wasn’t actually as interested in you as you thought? If he doesn’t show up on Thursday, then the outlook of your mission will plummet quickly.

“I’ll talk to you Friday 0800.”

“Copy. I’ll talk to you at 0800 Friday.”

“Be careful. Don’t forget how dangerous Leon Kennedy is,” Wyatt warns, sending ice through your veins. For a moment you wish there was someone else able to take this mission, someone with more experience than you. 

“I won’t forget. We’ll catch him, I’ll make sure of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

By 5 o’clock on Thursday, you were beginning to get nervous that Kennedy wouldn’t show. When 6 came around, you were anxiously pacing the length of the bar and by 7 you were just about ready to quit right then and there. The bar isn’t busy at all, leaving you with plenty of time to go over Tuesday night’s conversation and over-analyze everything. Had you given away too much information at once? Had something slipped, something that let Kennedy trace back to your real identity? You aren’t sure which is worse: the possibility that you messed up on your first day or that there’s simply something wrong with you that he finds unattractive.

It’s 8 o’clock when he strolls into the bar, sitting down in the same spot as last night and staring right at you with a smirk clear on his face. So it was going to be like that. You decide to make him wait, taking as long as possible to clean the empty glasses in front of you. It’s another ten minutes before you finally make your way over to his side of the bar.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have great customer service skills?” He teases as soon as you make it.

“I’m so sorry, it’s really busy tonight.” You shrug your shoulders as he takes one cursory glance at the nearly empty bar. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I couldn’t let you think I was flirting with the bartender.”

“Touche. Same as yesterday?” you finally ask, grabbing a glass when he confirms. “Y’know it’d be cheaper to just drink whiskey at home.”

“Then I wouldn’t meet any interesting people.” Kennedy is smooth, that’s for sure. You had thought Simmons was exaggerating in his explanation of Kennedy, but it seems he was pretty spot on. Snarky yet also somehow charming; sneaky but something about him makes you want to trust him.

“Oh yeah? Like who?”

“Like the mysterious bartender.”

“Mysterious, huh?” You can’t help but laugh a little; if only he knew just how mysterious. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You show up with no warning and a crazy backstory. Even Robbie was telling me last night that he was surprised to hear from you, said you were like a different person now. We talked all night Tuesday and I still don’t know anything about you,” Kennedy explains and you have the strange urge to strangle Robbie. This was going to be hard enough without Robbie making your target more suspicious of you. “Mysterious is pretty fitting to me.”

“Well what about you?” you deflect quickly, shaking your head and making a drink for yourself. It wouldn’t be smart to get drunk around your target, but one drink to loosen you up couldn’t hurt anything. “You’re apparently here every night but no one here seems to know anything about you. I also talked to you all Tuesday night and only know you used to be a cop. And that look in your eyes? I know that one, you’ve seen some shit. If anything, I’d say you’re more mysterious.”

The two of you stare each other down, neither willing to look away and admit defeat. After a few moments of pure silence, Kennedy sighs and takes a large sip of his drink before admitting, “I work for the government.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you tease lightly before leaning forward on the bar. “So what is it? FBI, CIA?”

“Classified,” Kennedy returns and you raise your brows to act impressed.

“Alright, have it your way.”

“I will. Now it’s your turn.”

“I already told you, I worked for WilPharma,” you answer, eyebrows knitting together in genuine confusion. What else could he be expecting? Did he already see right through you?

“WilPharma never had a lab in D.C., so you moved back here to be a bartender, but you could do that anywhere. Why?”

“I went to Georgetown for my undergrad, spent four years here. Even before that, I grew up not far from the area. It feels like home to me,” you answer honestly. Though you hadn’t always lived in Washington, it did feel like returning home when you moved here for your FBI position. Though you didn’t end up spending much time in D.C. due to the amount of travel required of agents. You were almost thankful for the chance to spend some more time in the city for this assignment.

“Georgetown, that’s a good school.” It feels good to hear how impressed Kennedy seems. “That makes you a genius scientist. I make it a habit not to trust those anymore.”

“Because of WilPharma?” you probe.

“Something like that.”

“Well that’s not me anymore, I assure you,” you tell him honestly. It had only been two years since the Harvardville incident but it felt like a lifetime had gone by. You hardly recognized yourself in pictures from that time, not because you looked any different but because of the naivety. There were still a couple of pictures of you in your lab and the pure happiness and hope in your expression in those made your heart ache. You truly thought you could change the world with that job; in truth, maybe you had, just not for the better as you’d hoped. Sometimes you still had nightmares about the possible ways they used your research to hurt people. “I’m just Val the bartender.”

“And I’m just Leon, not Leon the government agent.”

“Deal. It’s nice to meet you ‘just Leon’,” you speak up, even reaching your hand out for a shake.

“Likewise, ‘just Valerie’,” Leon returns and if you really were ‘just Valerie’ you would’ve fallen for him right then and there. The way the man in front of you is able to turn on his charm is dangerous in your line of work. The loose smile playing at the edges of his lips is enough to make you want to forget your mission and take him home.

Just like that, though, you suddenly understand how Kennedy has gotten away with everything for this long. Simmons mentioned that he had been working with Umbrella, or what was left of it, since a mission in Spain a couple years back. At first, you were a bit suspicious of that. Certainly, the top agents in the country wouldn’t have caught on if he really was working with enemy number one. In just two nights, however, he even had you distracted. Leon Kennedy truly did seem like a good person, and that was the part that scared you. What kind of person was able to lie this convincingly for so long?

* * *

Even though you had been working there for about a year, it’s still intimidating to step into the FBI headquarters building. Maybe even more so now that you’ve been instructed to wear civilian clothing, lest you just so happen to run into anyone who could identify you as Valerie Dryden, however unlikely that scenario is. You can’t help but pick at the front belt loops of your jeans as you wait for Wyatt to come to retrieve you. You felt vulnerable standing there without your badge and without the familiar weight of a gun at your hip.

“Finally,” you breathe as you spot your partner heading down the steps. “You make me wait on purpose?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Dryden,” Wyatt answers, and you can’t help but feel like he was finding amusement in this.

“Thanks for meeting with me, _Agent Stallard_ ,” you return, voice dripping with politeness. Even in sarcasm, it feels strange to act so formally with him, considering how much time you two had spent together over the past year.

“Absolutely. You can follow me.” You do, in fact, follow Wyatt through the familiar halls of the headquarters building. It’s been two weeks since the start of your mission and it’s been that long since you’ve seen the building. You shudder at the thought of how much dust will coat your desk by the time you arrest Leon.

You’re led to one of the meeting rooms, seeing the National Security Advisor sitting at the long table through the wall-to-wall windows. Simmons stands as you enter the room, giving you a sickly sweet smile and a firm handshake. “It’s great to finally meet with you again, Agent L/N,” Simmons tells you and it’s so polite but there’s an undercurrent of harsh cold, making you far too aware of how powerful this man is.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Sir,” you return, falling back into the proper form of an FBI agent. You stand still as he sits back down at the head of the table. He waits a few more moments until he nods at you, wordlessly giving you permission to sit in the chair just beside his, across from where Wyatt has already sat down.

“You’ve had two weeks. I want a progress report,” Simmons speaks, voice strong as he is clearly used to ordering people around.

“Right, Sir,” you allow yourself a moment to breathe, running quickly through your head how the past two weeks have gone and filtering through what you can tell your indirect superior. He was not your boss but he was an official chosen by the president himself. “Kennedy’s starting to trust me more. He comes to the bar almost every night I work and I try to talk to him the whole time between the actual work.”

“Has he told you anything about his plans with Umbrella?” Simmons probes and the stiffness in his voice and shoulders lets you know how impatient he’s already become.

“No, Sir, he doesn’t talk about his work. I’ve made a lot of progress but he still doesn’t trust me.”

“Then make him.”

“Sir, it’s not going to be that easy. You said so yourself, he’s not very tru-” you begin, though something you said clearly triggers Simmon’s anger.

His fist slams against the table, cold eyes burning a hole through you. “Then make him. Must I remind you, Agent, how much is at stake here? Do you want to be the cause of the president’s death? Because if you can’t speed it up, you will be.”

“Alright, let’s take a step back,” Wyatt cuts in, saving you from trying to find a reasonable reply to Simmons that won’t get you fired on the spot. If Simmons thought it was so easy, why couldn’t he do it himself? “I don’t know how it works over in the Department of Defense, but here at the DOJ we respect our agents, especially our Greens.”

“Hey, I’m _not_ green,” you protest, feeling resentment warm up your chest and you can already imagine what Wyatt would say to you if you had time after the meeting. _Don’t let anyone rile you up, you get red in the face so fast and it reveals your entire hand for them._ “I’ve been going on assignments for a year now, I can do this.”

“No one’s questioning that, Scout,” Wyatt tells you slowly, one hand up as if calming a wild animal. “But this is your first solo assignment and your first undercover stint. This is a whole other animal.” When you don’t fight him anymore, he returns his focus back to Simmons. “We understand the urgency of the mission, but I won’t allow my agent to endanger herself for it.”

The security advisor clearly hates that answer. “She’s already endangered herself by accepting this assignment. It takes one slip-up and she’s gone. I don’t care how skilled she is, she’s no match for Kennedy.” He practically spits the name out and you wonder if it’s possible for someone to hate another person as much as Simmons seemingly hates Leon Kennedy. You also get angry at the thought of the betrayal Kennedy has supposedly committed against the country, but you can’t help but think that there’s a note of something personal in Simmons’s hatred.

“I’m well aware of the danger, Sir,” you speak up, giving Wyatt a look to tell him to stand down. Your pride wasn’t worth him disrespecting Simmons by fighting him again. “I’m committed to this assignment, and I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish it. I refuse to put myself in danger when I don’t have to, though. Kennedy’s smart. If I push him, he’ll get suspicious.”

“Then perhaps you should try a different tactic.” The way Simmons smirks instantly makes you uncomfortable, and when he speaks again you understand why. “You’re a pretty woman.”

“What are you implying?” you ask slowly, watching Wyatt from your peripheral as he grows visibly angry.

“Must I spell it out?” When no one answers, Simmons sighs. “Kennedy may be smart, but he’s also a man. He’ll loosen his lips if you loosen your legs.”

Before you can even reply, Wyatt lets out an angry shout. “That is _enough_ , Simmons!” Wyatt screams loud enough that the intern walking down the hallway jumps, standing up and slamming his palms against the table hard enough to rattle the furniture. “This isn’t some honey pot mission. We-”

“Respect your agents, I understand that,” Simmons finishes for him, clearly not bothered by the outburst. “Though I’m starting to question the effectiveness of your methods. If you’re unwilling to use force, and you’re unwilling to use seduction, then how do you plan to convince Kennedy to trust you? You would do well to remember our timeline.”

“Screw the timeline!” Wyatt continues his outburst. “You may be in charge of the Department of Defense, but the FBI isn’t under your jurisdiction. We’re doing you _a favor_. If you can’t accept how we run our missions, then I highly suggest you find someone else to do it.”

“No, he has a point,” you speak up again, staring down at your hands folded on top of the table. Though Wyatt was right that Simmons couldn't order you two around, you were well-aware of the fact that it was unwise to make an enemy of a man with so much power. “It’s been two weeks and I haven’t made much progress at all. As horrible as that suggestion was, and I do want to make it clear that you don't get to talk to me like that, it’s true that we need to speed things up.” At first, the plan was to just be Kennedy's bartender. Simmons had made it clear that Kennedy was on a path toward alcoholism, so you all had assumed that if you managed to serve him enough drinks he’d trust you enough to let a couple of secrets slip through. After a couple of weeks with nothing more than some flirtatious banter, though, it has become clear to you that your plan won’t work. You need something else, you need to get closer to Kennedy.

“How do you suggest doing that without getting yourself killed?” Wyatt asks you, and you wonder when he got so protective of you. At the start, he had only complained about having to take on a trainee. The seasoned agent had been convinced that you would get him killed someday, and let you know every time you joined him on his assignments. You didn’t even notice when he started caring about you; when he was ready to risk everything to defend you.

You start to wonder if maybe you missed when someone else started to care about you. What would a certain someone be willing to do to protect you if you made him care a lot more about you?

“Well, I do have an idea. I’m just not sure you’ll like it.”

\---

That’s how you end up standing in the back alley with a couple of other agents. It’s your break and it’s pretty typical for you to step outside for some fresh air. You made sure to tell Leon that your break was ten minutes long that night.

“You’re right, I hate this idea,” Wyatt tells you. “How do you even know it’s gonna work?”

“He fights BOWs for a living, right? He probably gets off on saving people,” you return, shrugging your shoulders. “Besides, I told him I’d be back in ten minutes. He’ll get worried when I don’t come back.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then you get a few free hits in, I guess. Payback for having to deal with my rookie ass for a year.”

“Scout.”

“I’m kidding!” you laugh, rolling your eyes. A quick glance at your watch lets you know that it’s now twenty minutes since you left on break. “Alright, let’s get the show on the road. Don’t pull your punches. Even you, Rookwood.”

The two agents give each other a look, and then Wyatt deals the first blow. It’s a sharp hit to your stomach that makes the breath fly from your lungs. You let out a wheeze as you double over, arm wrapped firmly around your abdomen. You’re hardly given a break, just beginning to straighten up when Agent Rookwood sends a hook to the side of your face.

“Help! Someone please!” you scream out to the empty alleyway. It feels strange not to fight back when you know you can. Even as a teenager your parents had made you enroll in a self-defense course so you would never be defenseless in a situation like this one. 

You begin to wonder if maybe you had it wrong, if maybe Kennedy really wouldn’t care if you were missing. Though, just as Wyatt lands a hit that sends blood spurting out of your nose, the back door opens. Sure enough, you spot a flash of blond hair as Leon rounds the corner. “I told you, I’m just on break! I don’t have any money on me!”

“Hey!” a strong voice yells, “Get away from her!” Leon’s able to land a harsh punch to Wyatt’s face before the two agents run off. He starts to take off after them but seems to think better of it, instead turning to face you where you stand, leaning against the brick wall of the bar.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks, voice sounding almost panicked as he closes the distance, one hand reaching up to brush the spot on your cheek where Rookwood’s fist landed. You let out a genuine wince, though he doesn’t move away from you.

“I-I’m fine,” you allow your voice to shake, “Just a little shaken up. I’m sorry.”

“You’re apologizing for getting attacked?” Leon clarifies, eyebrows raising as his blue eyes look at you with nothing but concern.

“I’m sure the last thing you wanna do on your night off is help more people, Mr. Badass Government Agent.”

“Don’t apologize,” Leon tells you, “I’ll always want to help you, Valerie.” It’s impossible to ignore the care that fills his tone.

“I-I should get back to work. I’ve already missed so m-”

“Absolutely not,” Leon denies, stepping back from you. “I’m taking you home.” There it is. You had a check-in with Wyatt tomorrow night and you couldn’t wait to rub it in that your plan was working.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that. I wouldn’t want to be a burden anymore than I already have been.”

“Valerie, what did I just say? You’re in no position to keep working and there’s no way I’m gonna let you walk home alone. You’re shaking like a leaf,” Leon points out and it makes your cheeks flush red. You hadn’t even been _trying_ to shake like that, what was causing it? “C’mon, let’s go back inside. I can close my tab and you can grab your stuff.” You nod, following him back into the bar and letting your coworker know what happened. It’s easy to get the rest of the night off and soon enough you’re walking side-by-side with Leon in the direction of your apartment.

It’s barely September but the nights are already growing chilly. You hold your jacket in your hands, allowing your arm to brush against Leon’s as you walk. Neither of you speaks until you reach your apartment, unlocking it and stepping inside. Truthfully, you’re a little embarrassed by it. It’s just an apartment supplied by the FBI for your undercover assignment, but to Leon, this is really where you live. It’s not trashy but it’s certainly not nice. If your mother were here, she would have given you one of her fake smiles and told you that it was “homey” and “well lived in”.

Leon steers you to your kitchen, only speaking to ask where your first aid kit is. The first couple minutes of him caring for you are silent, punctuated only by soft requests for you to tilt your head a certain way. It’s not uncomfortable, but you can’t help but tense your shoulders a little at the thought of this dangerous man being where you live.

“Thank you again,” you tell him softly from where you sit atop your kitchen counter. He’s stepped just between your legs to get close enough to clean up your face a little. It all feels too intimate. “You really don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” Leon responds in the same way he has every time you thank him, and his words sound so sincere that you genuinely believe him.

“There’s no way you could’ve known,” you return, wincing a little as he wipes a cotton pad of hydrogen peroxide on the cut on your cheek. “You know, you’re kind of my hero.”

“Kind of?” Leon finally allows himself to tease, a small smile breaking his concentrated expression.

“Okay, definitely my hero,” you admit, your own eyes watching his. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t saved the day.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Leon lets out his own admission, so quietly you even lean forward a little as if that would help you hear. “My job is... _high risk_. There’s a lot of pressure to save the day. I worry about not being able to someday. Then I was too late for you.”

You can’t imagine the kind of pressure the Anti-Umbrella unit is under, especially not the top agent. BOWs are terrifying and you can’t imagine being the one tasked with stopping that threat in its tracks. “I can’t imagine,” you echo your thoughts out loud. “I am so glad you were there, but it would’ve been okay if you weren’t. Don’t put that kind of pressure on yourself, not with me. You’re just Leon with me, remember?”

“You scared me tonight, Valerie.”

“If it makes you feel better, I scared me too,” you respond, heart racing at the intimacy of the scene you somehow find yourself in. This was your goal the entire time, but you were still caught off-guard when it happened.

Leon seems to think the same thing, as he shakes his head a little and returns to cleaning up your face, blue eyes looking anywhere but at your own. “This is probably going to bruise,” he tells you, brushing his fingers lightly over your cheek. “Your nose doesn’t seem broken, but it’ll probably be sore for a couple of days.”

“Leon,” you try but he shakes his head again, a wall clearly back up between you two. “I’ll be okay, I promise. You don’t have to worry over me.”

His thumb gently brushes over your bottom lip, resting right over the split towards one side. You can’t stop the slight gasp that slips from you at the sudden touch. His eyes are focused on your lips and it all makes your head swim a little. 

_This was supposed to happen_ , you tell yourself, _you can’t chicken out now_. You owe it to your country, didn’t you? It was only a couple of days ago that you were telling Simmons that you would do anything to get the information you needed from Leon, you couldn’t go back on your word. The moment didn’t make you feel like a badass agent though, instead, you felt a little more like you were sleeping with the devil.

“Leon,” you whisper as he moves closer to you, so close you can feel his hips bump the inside of your thighs. Just a few minutes ago you had been shaking from the cold but now you felt like you might burn from the inside out. He may be the devil, but you couldn’t deny how attractive he was; and even though the mugging was staged, you were still coming down from an adrenaline high. So when his thumb is replaced by his lips on your own, you don’t feel guilty.

It’s gentle, so gentle it takes you by surprise. You’d always imagined the villains would be rough and possessive, but Leon takes his time. The light pressure stings your split lip but you find yourself leaning in further, giving him permission to take what he wants. Even his hand is gentle against your face, thumb resting on your cheek and the rest of his fingers gently cradling your head behind your ear. You allow your hands to rest against his chest, sliding one up to the back of his neck as he deepens the kiss.

It’s you who eventually breaks first, pulling away only enough to allow oxygen back into your lungs. You let one of your hands tangle itself in the hair at the back of his neck, keeping him in place, forehead pressed to yours. Neither of you says a word, allowing you both to catch your breath.

This was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. When trying to get him drunk enough to spill his secrets didn’t work, you knew you had to change tactics. While you would never actually take Simmons’ crude advice, perhaps getting closer to Leon was the best plan. Kissing was okay, you tell yourself, normal people do that all the time. If this plan was going to work, you would have to kiss him and it was normal to feel like this after.

You remind yourself of this as you lean forward, capturing his lips with yours. It’s Leon that pulls back though, eyebrows furrowed deep on his face as he watches your surprised expression with what you can only guess is fear.

“You’re not,” Leon pauses, and from the tension in his voice, you can tell he’s afraid of something, “You’re not doing this because you think you owe me.”

“Never,” you promise him, chest feeling warm at the comfort that he truly doesn’t want to take advantage of you. Leon’s clearly a good guy, and if he wasn’t being accused of trying to destroy the world you might’ve seriously considered flirting with him for real. “This is all me, I want to.”

Leon allows the kiss to continue then with more confidence, holding you a little tighter though with the same overwhelming amount of care. You allow him to take the lead, fingers curling a little tighter in his hair as he presses hard enough for your lips to ache. It’s when he rests his hands against your thighs that you’re reminded of why you’re here. The hand against his chest pushes a little and thankfully Leon takes the hint quickly, leaning back to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you say breathily, chest slightly heaving, “I can’t...I don’t do flings.” You refuse to make this a honey pot mission. You’ll seduce the hell out of Leon Kennedy, but you’ll never allow yourself to do what Simmons expects of you.

Leon doesn’t even hesitate before he says, “Then when can I take you on our first date?”

“What?” You can’t help the question from slipping from your bruised lips, expecting him to be frustrated with you. “Are you serious?”

“We’ve been flirting for two weeks, we should try it,” Leon tells you, shrugging his shoulders as if the idea is simple. “If you want to, that is.”

“I do,” you reassure him, giving Leon a small smile as he steps back to put just a little more space between you two. “I’m free next Friday?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven?” Leon suggests, suddenly looking nervous and it’s impossible not to smile.

“You have yourself a deal, Kennedy,” you tell him, and once he’s backed up enough you slide off the counter to stand just in front of him.

“I should go,” Leon says but makes no move toward the front door.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you suggest, voice barely above a whisper.

“We should do this the right way,” he says and the words run through your head for the rest of the night. Even as he helps you clean up the mess of used gauze, even as you walk him to the front door of your apartment complex, even as you lay in bed wide awake a couple of hours after he left. Leon’s sweet, so sweet it almost feels fake.

As you finally manage to fall asleep, you tell yourself that it won’t be hard to pretend to care about Leon Kennedy.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey just wanted to give a quick update! This is NOT abandoned! Life has been tough and hectic lately; I'm in my final year of university before grad school and it's kicking my butt, not gonna lie. So I will be updating soon hopefully! I have been watching some of the movies and playthroughs of the games to get back into it and I will return to this very soon. <3


End file.
